


You Bring Me Home

by chaoticallyyours



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (hi), Eleanor’s in it for a minute but like it’s cool, M/M, Nikki shut up, Oops, Song: Sweet Creature (Harry Styles), Still the one, and it's actually just been sitting on my computer since june, mentions of freddie, msg night 2, this is the first fic ive written in years, what the fuck are these tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 21:43:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16127327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticallyyours/pseuds/chaoticallyyours
Summary: He stops breathing entirely before the first line is out of Harry’s mouth, and by the chorus, he has to actually get up and pace the floor, half a nervous habit, and half to attempt to keep up with the racing of his thoughts.Harry. Harryharryharryharryhazza. They hadn’t spoken properly since the night of Louis’ x factor performance months ago, and he had mostly put Harry out of his mind, but this, this song cracks all resolve he had ever had to let the past and younger boy go right down to its foundation, and it’s all his sisters’ fault.OR: the one where Louis' meddling twin sisters send him a copy of Sweet Creature and it sparks a reunion between Harry and Louis.





	You Bring Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> This has legitimately been sitting on my laptop since MSG night two in JUNE. Look, I came back into this fandom because I heard that Harry covered Still The One and proper lost my shit and wrote 8k about it immediately after it happened. I can't be helped. 
> 
> So much love and thanks to Jenn who sat up with me the night this was written and for betaing it now. Also so so so much love to Jayme, Ronnie, and Alex for giving me encouragement and direction. This fic would not be posted now if it weren't for you three. I adore you guys. 
> 
> ALSO just so you know, this has been beta'd but it WAS originally written in second person, so if there's a stray "you" somewhere don't hate me too much. 
> 
> I don't know anyone or anything. It's very unfortunate. 
> 
> Title from Sweet Creature by Harry Styles

In the end, it’s Daisy, maybe Phoebe who brings it up. Louis can never quite be sure because their texts are as identical as they are, and sent back to back, perfectly stacked like bookends. It’s only a little message of “just listen x.” with an .mp4 to accompany it and he would be lying if he said he didn’t immediately roll his eyes and shove his phone back in his pocket. He’d listen to whatever asinine pop song his sisters were obsessed with later. 

Later, as it turned out, happened to be with Eleanor. After the seventh text of “Well??” and “Louuu.” from Daisy and Louis’d had all that he could handle. Offering El a long suffering, what can you do kind of sigh, he thumbs open the original text and presses play on the .mp4, sure that he can get through the song and send back a mostly positive response before the previews of the film they’re watching ends.

It takes approximately ten seconds for him to realize how absolutely, utterly, definitively wrong he is.

God  _ damn  _ them.

He stops breathing entirely before the first line is out of Harry’s mouth, and by the chorus, he has to actually get up and pace the floor, half a nervous habit, and half to attempt to keep up with the racing of his thoughts.

_ Harry. Harryharryharryharryhazza.  _ They hadn’t spoken properly since the night of Louis’ x-factor performance months ago, and he had mostly put Harry out of his mind, but this, this song cracks all resolve he had ever had to let the past and younger boy go right down to its foundation, and it’s all his sisters’ fault.

Eleanor is watching his reaction from the couch in an even stonier silence than he himself is capable of, and honestly, that says a lot. And as Sweet Creature fades out and the movie previews take precedence once again, Louis finds himself shaking his head, once, twice, three times, and runs an embarrassingly shaky hand through his hair.

“ _ Really _ , Lou? This again?” Eleanor asks, and he snaps to attention, immediately ready for a fight.

“Oh, for fucks  _ sake,  _ I didn’t go searching for it!” he half growls at her, the hand that’s still clutching his phone in a death grip flying into the air in a gesture that’s equal parts defiant and helpless. She isn’t in the least bit buying it.

“Babe! My fucking sisters! Do you want to see the text again?” he asks, crossing the room in two monumental strides and thrusting the phone under her nose.

“No, I don’t Louis.” She scoffs, wrinkling her nose in distaste and eyeing her boyfriends face critically “What I  _ want  _ is for you to tell me you’re over him. That it means nothing. That you aren’t freaking out right now.”

“I’m over him, Eleanor. It means nothing.” Louis says without the slightest hesitation, immediately reverting back to the weeks and months and years of media training he’d had on this very subject. It’s easy, far, far too easy, and the way those words just slip right off his tongue despite the jackhammering of his heart in his ears sits like a ton of bricks in the pit of his stomach. 

God  _ damn  _ them. God damn  _ him. _

She calms a little then, just enough to tug Louis back down on the sofa with her and nuzzle into his side with a sigh. For his part, Louis isn’t sure if she’s just astronomically stupid for buying it, or if she just loves him too fucking much for her own good.

“Maybe,” she starts, and it’s little more than a hopeful whisper against the soft blue fabric of the jumper he still insists on wearing in May. “It isn’t about you anyway.”  

Laughter actually bubbles in the back of Louis’ throat at that one, and he stuffs it back down with a sound a little like a sob. “It’s about me,” he responds, and he can’t for the life of him figure out why he didn’t just lie about it, maybe it’s that he doesn’t have the energy to argue, or maybe it’s just that he’s still trying to make sense of it all in his own brain, but it slips out all the same and floats around the room like a cloud promising rain.

“Oh.” And that’s her only response for a what could either be a few heartbeats or half a lifetime. Then, smaller, less steady, “Play it again?”

And stupidly, selfishly, he does, closing both eyes tight against the wave of emotion that threatens to drown him when he isn’t looking. Somewhere in the back of his racing mind, he thinks that if he’s going to die, listening to Harry’s voice is the way he wants to go.  

* * *

 

“When, Lou?” Eleanor asks a long time later, naked in Louis’ bed. 

“Hmm?” he asks, though he knows exactly what she’s talking about without asking.

“When did you last talk?” She mumbles, warily. This is clearly a conversation she doesn’t want to have, and he finds himself wondering if she’s having as strong a sense of Déjà vu as he is.

“Erm…Months ago, really. After mum…” and he lets his voice trail off, still struggling to put words to the enormity of his mother's passing.

“And did, did you talk about, you know…”

“No,” he answers honestly, maybe a little recklessly.  They hadn’t talked about their relationship last time they’d been together. Truthfully, they’d mostly just cried together for a long time in silence.

“But…”

Louis sighs, rolling over and pulling her into his chest in way more of an attempt to hold himself together than to comfort her.

“We did. Talk about it I reckon. But a while ago. When things started to go bad with Danielle. We’ve talked about it a lot over the years if I’m honest. It never amounts to anything.” And that’s the gods honest, they’d talked, and they’d talked and they’re still separate people and it's honestly more bullshit than anything else has ever been in his entire fucking life. And that’s quite the accomplishment.

“Oh.” She says again, smaller, more tired than the last time. “I’m just going to go.” She’s not crying, she doesn’t even look angry, her face is a blank mask as she starts untangling their limbs and searching for her clothes. Louis just closes his eyes and lets her because there isn’t enough left in him to argue, because all that he can hear in his head is  _ you bring me home _ .

* * *

Eleanor hasn’t spoken to Louis in two days, and after yelling at the twins so harshly on the phone that they both cried, he hasn’t spoken to anyone else either.

The thought of calling Harry is all that’s occupied his mind if he’s honest. Calling him and yelling at him too. For one fleeting second he imagines his voice literally ripping, tearing holes in Harry as deep as Sweet Creature had dug in him and he hates himself for it.

It isn’t fair, and sometime around three am on the third day, he breaks. Thumbing open his contacts he navigates right to Harry’s familiar number and presses send. He’ll just leave a voicemail or something. It’s not like Harry’s going to answer at this hour anyway, Louis doesn’t even know where he is these days, it could be an even more unholy hour his time.

Except he does answer, and Louis want to hang himself, because honestly, he was so stupid to ever think Harry wouldn’t.

“Lou?” Harry asks, concern clearly coloring the warm rasp of his voice. He’d been sleeping, Lou can tell, he knows Harry’s sleep worn voice like the back of his hand, and he’s not sure if he wants to crawl in the nearest hole and die or slither through the phone and settle himself beneath the younger boy’s bones. In a fit of indecision, he settles for a whimper and hangs up the phone.

Harry calls right back, and Louis lets It go to voicemail, waiting on the incoming message notification with his breath held and his whole body aching.

The message is simple, innately Harry, and Louis plays it through four times before tossing his phone at the wall with a huff.

_ Lou? I dunno if you meant to have called me but it was nice seeing your number again. I’m here if you need me. Miss you. _

 If his mom were still alive, he’d probably talk to her about it, but the thing is, she isn’t and that in and of itself is a fact that Louis has still yet to deal with. But for days after the voicemail, he fights the urge to call again, just to hear Harry’s voice.

It’s so pathetic that it actually makes him angry.

He does, however, make up with the twins, and that takes a weight off of his chest that he’s glad to lie down. Louis forgets sometimes that he wasn’t the only person in his family that loved Harry, and sometimes that makes him just a little bit of a dick to people who don’t deserve it. He knows the twins meant well, they just want their big brother happy, but it’s so  _ goddamn complicated  _ and they’ll never fully understand that.

Louis and Eleanor still aren’t speaking. It’s been a week, and if he’s honest, her absence takes something off of him too, but instead of feeling relief, this time all he can muster is a deep guilt. It really isn’t that he doesn’t love her, because he does, in his own way. It’s more the fact that he’s not naïve and he knows that all the love in his body will never ever be good enough, and really Harry had it right all along didn’t he?

_ We know where we belong. _

* * *

It takes Louis almost two full weeks, but he does call again, because by the end of the second week, he can’t stand the sight of his own face in the mirror anymore and keeping his mouth shut was never his strongest point.

Louis actually waits to call Harry in public, hoping that the constant possibility of paparazzi will keep his turbulent emotions in check.

Harry picks up on the third ring, and yet again, Louis feels himself go breathless at the sound of Harry's voice, just exactly the same way he had every single time since he was eighteen.    

“Lou? Hi. Hey. Um. Yeah, hi.”

He grins despite himself, thinking back to that bathroom all those years ago and how the two of them had met. Huffing a sigh that Louis hopes cant be heard down the line he searches for his voice.

“Hey Hazza.” Is all that Louis manages in the end, and the nickname just rolls off of his tongue like melted candy, already out into the world before he can decide if he wants to catch it and stuff it back in again.

“Hey yourself.” Harry says, and Lou can hear the ghost of laughter in Harry’s voice from where he’s standing, the traffic on the street behind him playing background noise as he shivers right to the tips of his toes. “So erm, about two weeks ago, did you mean to have called me or did I just get a surprising butt dial?”

Oh Harry. Of course he’d bring that up immediately. “I…yeah,” Louis starts, his sigh definitely audible this time as he scrubs at his face with his hands. “I reckon I meant to call and, in the end, just kind of bottled out.”

“Oh?” Harry offers, and it’s such a direct mirror to Eleanor’s responses from that night that Louis almost laughs. Almost.

“It’s the weirdest thing, really. My sisters sent me your song, and I guess I just…” and Louis lets himself trail off again, the end of his sentence and the emotions behind it floating off on the warm mid afternoon breeze. It takes Harry a while to respond, and Louis would wonder if he’d dropped the phone on him if he didn’t know him better. But that’s just Harry, he likes to pick his words carefully, especially if they’re important ones.

“I thought,” he starts, then a pause, a breath. “I thought about sending it to you myself, but I didn’t want….” And this time he’s the one letting his thoughts trail off into the ether, but Louis knows exactly what he’s trying to stay instinctively. Harry doesn’t want to upset him. He doesn’t want to upset  _ El.  _ Something in the reality of that hurts, twists up into a knot in his throat that he can’t quite choke down.

“Haz…” and it’s honest to god all Louis can force out, but it’s enough. Harry  _ knows.  _ He always has.

“I know, Lou.” He offers, and Louis aches with it, his whole body rebelling against standing until he’s flat on his ass on the sidewalk outside a café in the city and honestly, he couldn’t care less if he gets papped this way. What the hell does it matter anyway?  What more could the media take from him?

“I miss you.” Is all he can say in response, and it’s so honest and raw that Louis is quite surprised he even let himself say it in the first place. He definitely hadn’t meant to, but it’s the truth all the same.

“I miss you too, Louis. I always miss you if I’m honest.” And goddamn, would the fans have a field day with that one if they’d heard. There’s so much between the two of them now, so much that’s keeping Louis on one side of the line and Harry on the other that Louis isn’t sure that they’ll ever be on the same side again, but in that moment, he wants nothing,  _ nothing  _ more than to turn back time and make it all okay again.

“You know the fans are probably going absolutely mental over that song right now, don’t you?” Louis asks, and part of him hates himself for it, for the implications.

“They are.” Harry responds with a little laugh that sends yet another shockwave to the older mans toes and back. “I get at least a thousand tweets about it a day. They miss us too, I think.”

The last part of his sentence is half whispered, and so far away that Louis literally shivers from a phantom chill. He never expected for his relationship with Harry to turn out like this, to morph into distance and a kind of longing that neither of them have the words or the energy to grapple with.

“So Erm.” Louis starts, scrambling for a change of subject before the vice grip around his lungs transforms to something like tears. “How’re you?”

“I’m good, I’m good. Going on tour later in the year. How’re you? How’s the family? How’s Freddie and Eleanor?”

“Family’s good. As good as can be I suppose.” He responds, sighing deeply. “Freddie’s growing. Don’t see him much if I’m honest. His mum doesn’t fancy me much, I think. Eleanor is….actually not speaking to me.”

“Oh.” Harry responds, and Louis can hear his concern clear as day. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Louis’ stomach flips, he knows Harry’s  _ not  _ sorry, that he’s never liked Eleanor, and yet, here Harry is, perpetually pretending otherwise for the sake of Louis’ happiness. If his happiness ever had anything to do with her, Harry’s genuine effort mine mean something. The thing is, it doesn’t. It doesn’t and it never has and he can't figure out how the fuck he got himself into this situation again.

“She was kind of there when I heard your song…”

“Oh, Lou, I’m…” and Lou cuts him off before Harry can apologize, partly because it’s not his fault and partly because he thinks that if Harry finishes his sentence he might just die right there in the street from the weight of the sadness sitting squarely on his shoulders.

“Don’t.” Louis hears himself whisper, and Harry goes quiet again, several minutes passing with nothing but the sound of his steady breathing on the other end of the line as Louis clutches his phone to his ear like a life raft. 

“Lou?”

“Hmm?”

“I gotta go. I have a meeting. But…” another pause, careful consideration. “I’m here. Don’t wait months before you call again.”

“I won’t.” Louis whispers, swallowing down the emotion rising in his throat and adopting a playfulness he definitely doesn’t feel. “I’m here too, Haz. This works both ways, you tit.” 

A laugh, an agreement, and Harry’s gone again, the ghost of his voice still reverberating in Louis’ head as he tries to figure out how to pick himself up off the sidewalk and make his way home alone.

* * *

 As the weeks and months pass, Louis keep his promise, and something resembling normalcy returns to all of his relationships, not just the one with Harry. Eleanor has either forgotten the incident, or has chosen to not bring it up again, and Louis is more than grateful to her for that. He and Harry try to talk on the phone at least once every couple of weeks, and are mostly successful, even if they both have to sacrifice sleep to make it happen. At the very least, they text each other in down time just to say hello, and if Louis is being honest, he starts to feel like a whole person again for the first time in a very, very long time. Neither of them breach the subject of their relationship though, it’s still just too much, and they both know that without ever having to say it.  

Soon enough, Harry’s tour starts, and Louis watches videos from the first show at home alone in his favorite ratty joggers.

He won’t lie, when Harry sings Sweet Creature Louis’ heart swells so fast and so completely in his chest that for a minute he forgets all about lines and boundaries and complications and he calls Harry again just to hear his voice. 

He picks up on the fifth ring.

“’lo, Lou.” Harry mumbles, stifling a yawn. Shit. Louis glances at the alarm on the bedside table. It’s a reasonable time in the morning in London, sure, but Harry’s in California and it’s the middle of the night there. He’d woken him up. Again.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I always forget the fucking time.” Louis apologizes, blushing to the roots of his hair even though Harry can’t see it.

“’sokay, I’m awake now. And it’s you.”

“It’s me.” Louis agrees absently, still feeling quite a lot like shit for being an asshole and calling so late. “I was just catching videos online of the show, and you were amazing. Seriously.”

“Thanks, Lou. Honestly, I was so nervous I thought I was going to puke all over Mitch backstage.”

“You’re hopeless,” Louis shoots, shaking his head. “Perform a million times and still get sick from nerves, only you could manage that.”

“Shush, you. I haven’t spent a great deal of time performing alone Louis.” Harry quips, drawing Louis’ name out in mock annoyance though he doesn’t fool him for a second, Louis can hear the smile hiding just behind Harry’s words as plain as day.

“Yeah.” Louis agrees, much softer than he’d planned. “I know.” He flexes his fingers and his toes, trying to get rid of the sudden urge to pace his bedroom floor.

“Do you ever miss it?” Harry asks, and Louis bites his lip reflexively.

“Yeah, I do. Do you think the other lads do to?” he asks, knowing for an absolute fact that if nothing else, Niall does.

“I’m sure Niall does, at least.” Harry says, and Louis cracks up, giggling down the line despite himself because Harry still has the ability to read his mind despite the time and distance separating them. Harry laughs too, real and bright, and Louis finds himself at a loss. He just wants to curl up, fold himself into tiny little pieces and make himself fit in the space between Harry ribs where nothing would hurt anymore.

For just the tiniest fleeting second, Louis lets his guard down and acknowledges the very thing he’d known and avoided for years: the room he’s sat in, the walls that surround him, they aren’t home, home is the boy still laughing quietly down the line.

* * *

Nothing much changes, at least not with Louis and Harry. If anything, they talk more as the time continues to pass. As for Eleanor, however, that’s a completely different story.

She doesn’t like that Louis is talking to Harry so regularly again, and late in the spring, It really begins to take a toll on their relationship. They argue all the time, alternating between screaming matches that rattle the windows and silences so long and complete that Louis half wonders if he’s disappeared altogether, because even though they’re sat in the same room it’s almost as if she can’t even see him anymore.

The irony of it all is all almost too much for Louis to handle. In reality, she’s never seen him, not really, not like Harry has anyway, and he finds himself slipping further and further away from her and caring less and less that it’s happening.

At the beginning of June, it all comes to a head. She’s lying with her head pillowed in his lap when he gets a text from Harry.

“Who’s that?” She asks, leaning up try and get a glimpse of Louis’ phone.

“Harry.” He responds, not giving it any thought at all really, just huffing a laugh at the cross eyed picture Harry had sent and pulling a face for a return picture.

“Of course it is.” She says, rolling her eyes and jumping off the sofa in the same fluid movement. She’s always had a kind of grace about her that Louis’ll never understand, and for a split second, he’s a little mesmerized by her easy retreat. Then her words sink in.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Louis bites back, automatically going into full defense mode. Some part of him knows that defense isn’t the way to respond to her, not now, but he does it despite himself. Maybe it’s because deep down, he knows anything she’s got to say will be completely 100% right, and maybe it’s because Louis’ whole life, he’s felt like he’s lived under attack from someone or another and to be honest he’s just fucking  _ tired of it all _ .

“You’re an absolute moron, if I have to explain the problem Lou.” El says, and it’s off, the way she says it, like she’s torn between pain and pity and anger all the same time. Of course, this only makes Louis angrier. He doesn’t need her pity. He doesn’t need anyone’s fucking pity.

“Am I? Fuck you then, yeah? Either explain it, or fuck off Eleanor, I’m not doing this today.” He yells, thick Yorkshire accent even thicker in the heat of the moment.

“YOU’RE STILL IN LOVE WITH HIM, LOUIS. YOU CAN’T BE THAT FUCKING BLIND, CAN YOU? BLOODY HELL, YOU’RE AN IDIOT. AND AN ASSHOLE!” She screams, stepping right up into Louis’  personal space so that he can’t move away as she does.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Louis says, and it’s not even mad, just an even statement spoken in his normal voice because he knows she’s right and the fight in him, the fight against the truth of it is just too much to muster right now.

“Then tell me Lou, look me in the eye and tell me it isn’t true. Tell me you don’t get butterflies every time you hear his voice, tell me you haven’t listened to that  _ stupid  _ song every day since you first heard it, go on then.” She says, and she’s done yelling now too, her voice a strangers, caught somewhere between anger and pleading.

“I-“ and she cuts him off again, slices right through his automatic response by fisting her hand in the front of his shirt and shaking him a little.

“Look at  _ me,  _ Louis.”

Louis does, raises his eyes to meet hers, and in that moment, as much as he wants to, he can’t deny it. Not like this. She’d know better anyway.

“I’m sorry…” is all that he can offer her, and it’s not enough, he knows it’s not enough, but it’s all Louis’ got and he feels so bad that he actually wishes he could just sink right through his living room floor into the center of the earth, where he’d burn in hell where he knows he belongs for putting her through this again.

“I wish that was enough, Lou, I really do.” She says and she’s choking on every word, yet obviously determined not to cry. Her eyes shine with unshed tears as she bends to  give Louis the smallest of kisses on the cheek, his skin burning hot beneath the lipstick stain he knows she’s left. Then she picks up her bag on the way out the door, and she’s gone, and this time Louis knows it’s for good.

Harry texts him again later that night. When he doesn’t respond, Harry actually calls.

“Hi,” He says, always warm, and Louis’ stomach twists beneath his shirt despite the fact that he’s been upset all day. “I don’t have much time, but I you didn’t respond so I thought I’d….” 

And he trails off, knowing Louis can tell that he means to check up on him. He always has really, he’s forever been just a little worried that Louis will get inside his own head and implode one day, and honestly, the way he feels right now, Louis thinks maybe he’s justified in feeling that way. 

“El broke up with me.” It’s all he says, but it’s more than Louis had wanted to give. This is going to open a can of worms and he knows it.

“Lou…”

“She’d been mad that we’ve been talking I reckon, bit stupid.” Louis responds, trying to laugh it off like its nothing, like his whole body isn’t objecting to this conversation in ways that kind of make him wonder if he’s going to puke. There’s a huge breath down the line and a long pause that makes Louis’ hands start to shake with anxiety.

“I’m so—” Harry starts, but Louis cuts him off at the apology yet again, like he always does, because truthfully, Harry’s apologies have never done anything but make him ache inside.

“She’s not wrong, Haz.” And Louis really has no idea why he says it, why he’d tell him this, potentially fuck things up again with the only person besides his family and his son that really fucking matters. “She said I still love you, and she’s not fucking wrong.”

In the background, Louis hears someone telling Harry that it’s time to go, and he checks the clock across the room, realizing with a heavy heavy heart that Harry’s probably due on stage.

“Lou, I have to go. I’m really sorry. But,” Another long pause, and a breath that he can literally hear rattling from Harry’s lungs. “We’re going to talk about this. Soon.”

“Yeah, sure, Haz, whatever.” Louis offers, trying to act like his ribs aren’t cracking and his lungs aren’t popping and his head isn’t on overdrive. “Break a leg, yeah?”

Louis pulls the phone away from his ear and huffs a sigh, and maybe it’s just desperation, but he swears  that just before he ends the call he can hear a “I love you.” filter down the line from five thousand miles away.

* * *

It’s the next day that Harry invites Louis, via text, to come meet him in Philadelphia. It’s less than a week away, and Louis is an absolute moron for doing it, but he buys a plane ticket before he even thinks it over.

Louis’ family is quite literally losing their minds about the whole situation, and it would make him laugh if he weren’t so fucked up about it. He knows his mom would be happy that he’s talking to Harry again, that she’d totally support this trip and anything that may happen during, and there’s a comfort in that knowledge that Louis can’t find anywhere else.

That doesn’t stop him from worrying the entire flight though. He drinks enough that he’s not even sure that he’ll be able to stand upon landing, and then drinks a little more because his hands won’t stop shaking and his mind won’t stop reeling and he’s pretty sure that this is the single dumbest thing that he’s ever done.

Harry isn’t there when Louis lands, he’s at rehearsals, and thank god, because the first thing he does when he lands in the states is puke spectacularly in the airport terminal bathrooms. Louis probably won’t even see him until after the show, so he has….a very short amount of time to get his shit together. His driver drops him off at the hotel and the first thing he does is take the longest, hottest shower he’s taken in years, and silently hopes that all his skin melts off so he doesn’t have to do this.

It’s not that Louis doesn’t want to see Harry, ALL he wants to do is see Harry, and that in and of itself is decidedly terrifying. It’s more that he just doesn’t want to have this conversation. The conversation about where to go from here, which way is up, the  _ shit  _ that’s happened over the years. Louis doesn’t want to talk about the fact that he’s spent so long loving Harry but he’s still not ready to come out with that publicly, or how he loves him, but he has a son whose very existence Louis knows, causes Harry  _ so much pain.  _  And then there’s the deep black hole dug straight in the very center of his heart from his mother’s passing that honestly he’s not sure will ever go away, and the way it makes him wonder if he should even attempt to love Harry proper given that there’s so little of Louis left.

When he steps out of the shower, Louis is so exhausted, so weighted down with worry that he doesn’t even bother to put clothes back on, just tips naked onto his bed and sleeps until it’s so late that he has to rush to make it to the venue on time.

* * *

_ Are you here? H x _

_ Yes, and VIP boxes are a godsend. -L _

_ See you soon, then. xo H. _

Louis is standing in the farthest back corner of the VIP box when the lights go down, and he worries with his hair and the frayed hem of his shirt despite the fact that he knows good and goddamn well Harry can’t see  _ that  _ from stage.  

Harry opens with Only Angel and he’s wearing black and white and he’s so beautiful and such a sight for sore eyes that Louis legitimately can’t breathe. He weighs the merits of sitting the fuck down before he falls the fuck down against keeping Harry in his direct line of sight and keep standing, albeit with difficulty. Louis nerves are so frayed by Sweet Creature that he thinks he might actually sob when Harry starts singing, just bust out into hysterics like all the girls in the audience below him. But there’s something so incredibly steadying and sure about Sweet Creature that when the guitar rift starts, all Louis actually does is smile fondly at the memory of all the nights Niall spent tirelessly teaching Harry how to play, and how proud he’d be at how far Harry has come, how proud all the boys would be, how proud they all  _ are _ .

When, after the first line, Harry locks eyes with Louis and smiles, his heart kicks in double time, and he realizes that there’s not that long between right that second and the end of the show. Between right that second and whatever happens afterward. Panic starts to swell hot and heavy in his chest, but Louis wills it back down with a herculean effort and rides out the rest of the show as best as he can.

* * *

 

_ Where are you staying?  _ Harry texts, literally thirty seconds after he walks off the stage and Louis’ hands start to shake again in earnest. He decides to call him rather than text him back simply because he can’t get his fingers to work over the keyboard and everything that he tries to type in response looks like gibberish.

_ Fuck, he’s so fucked. _

“Hi.” He says when Harry picks up on the first ring, hoping to god that the shakiness in his hands hasn’t transcended to his vocal cords because that would just be  _ embarrassing. _

“Hey. So where are you staying, I’ll meet you there.” Harry responds, and there’s a trace of a tremor in Harry’s own voice, Louis can hear it buried underneath the pressure and too fast cadences of what he knows to be a post-show adrenaline rush. Louis gives him the hotel name and then calls his driver to pick him up, praying silently the whole time that he can get the fuck out of the venue and back to his hotel room without being spotted and with enough time to calm the absolute drumline his heartbeat has become before Harry shows up.

* * *

Louis make it on the first count, but his heartbeat is still wildly erratic and his breathing is nearing hyperventilation when Harry’s soft knock sounds on the door. It’s the timed code that he and all the boys used to use when they were on tour together, an assurance of familiarity and a question of welcome all at once.

There’s maybe ten feet to the door, but it feels like a thousand miles and a hundred hours before Louis can actually cross the room and open it.

Harry’s wearing a purple V-neck that Louis thinks at some point may have been his, old gray joggers and slides and for a minute he just stares at him open mouthed, half wondering how the hell he’s fitting into a shirt that must be at least six years old and half tempted to just shut the door in his face and go hide under the covers.

“Lou”, and that’s it, that’s literally all that it takes for Louis to realize that he couldn’t run from him now if he wanted to, because it’s a little like the entire universe just showed up at his door wearing Harry’s familiar grin.

“Haz” Louis whispers, knowing good and well that it comes out shaking and a full octave too high, but he can’t bring himself to give a fuck because he’s pulling Harry into the room and folding himself right up tight against his ribs before the door can even fully close. Tucked against his chest, nose pressed right in the column of his throat, Louis can take the first deep breath that he’s taken all day, the first deep breath he’s taken in  _ months  _ if he’s completely honest with himself.  Harry gives every bit as good as he gets, swooping right down to nose into your Louis’ hair and for a long space of time, rather its minutes or hours, Louis’ entire fucking pathetic life shrinks down to a two square foot space in a hotel room somewhere in Pennsylvania.

“I didn’t know if you’d come.” Harry says, finally pulling back and wandering over to sit on Louis’ still sleep-rumpled bed. Louis follows his lead, sitting down in the empty space beside him. He’s trying unsuccessfully to stifle a grin because Harry'd been patting the bed pointedly the entire time Louis was trying to walk to his side.

“I didn’t know if I was going to, really. I almost dicked it all up and ran at the airport” Louis says, pausing, deciding how honest he wants to be with him then finishing in a great rush of air. “both times. I may have been a slight bit pissed upon landing, in fact.”

Harry laughs then, dimples sitting deep into his cheeks and Louis can feel himself smile despite the huge weight in the pit of his stomach.

“Lou, it’s just me, innit?” Harry asks, and Louis laughs in earnest this time because Harry kind of has a point. “You silly potato.”

“Yeah, it’s just you.” Louis agrees, wrinkling his nose in mock distaste.

“Hey!” Harry yelps, pushing out his bottom lip in a rather great pout “if I had known you didn’t care, I wouldn’t have invited you, you enormous tit!”

For some reason, this hits Louis in exactly the wrong way and he shys away from him, leaving the bed in favor of pacing in front of it. Harry wrinkles his brow and tries to catch him by the wrist as he passes in front of him for the third time in less than twenty seconds, but Harry misses, and Louis round on him ready to fight.

“Don’t, goddammit. Don’t touch me. Do you actually fucking  _ think _ for a  _ second  _ id be here if I didn’t care? I’ve spent  _ eight years  _ caring  _ way too much,  _ so  _ fuck you _ for saying that, Harry, just. Fuck. You.”

“Lou” Harry says, trying and actually managing to catch him this time. But Louis still fights against Harry despite himself. Forever too stubborn for his own good, Louis tugs at his wrist to absolutely _no avail._ He’d forgotten that Harry’s so much stronger than he looks. “Lou, stop. Please stop. I was _joking._ I know you care. _Stop Louis.”_

And Louis does, just turns right around in Harry’s grasp and falls against him with an audible oompfh. The fight in him is gone as quickly as it came, replaced only with a nagging anxiety that hasn’t let up since what feels like a lifetime ago while he was packing to leave.

“Hey, hey.” Harry says, wrapping both arms around Louis and dragging him as far into his own body as humanly possible save the older man actually sinking beneath his skin.  He hadn’t realized he’d started shaking again, whole body tremors that start somewhere beneath blood and bone and radiate steadily outwards. Louis can’t help but be angry at himself for being so weak. Hot tears prick at the back of his eyes, tears that he tries to keep at bay with a rough fist and a growl.

“I’m sorry.” Louis offers, and it’s a lot smaller than he’d ever wanted it to be in the absolute silence the two of them have cocooned themselves in.

“What for?” Harry asks, pulling back to look Louis in the eye. God, Louis had forgotten how  _ green  _ Harry’s eyes are and for half a heartbeat too long he just stares at him before remembering he was supposed to actually be saying something.

“This.” Louis gestures to himself, his red eyes, and his shaking hands, and his wild hair in turn “—and for blowing up on you. And for everything. I’ve been such a  _ shit  _ for  _ years  _ and I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Harry says, pulling the smaller man in again and whispering right against his hair. “I’m definitely not innocent. But we’re here now, and we’re going to figure all of this out.”

Louis is definitely not sure that he believes that, not with all that’s against them, but he doesn’t argue, just shifts his position in Harry’s arms to relieve the tension in his back and aching knees.

Neither of them say much after that, just lie quietly together in the semi darkness of Louis’ hotel room listening to the cars fly by on the street three stories below, and when Louis wakes up in the morning, he’s  tangled so entirely in Harry’s limbs that he almost forgets that anything had ever been broken between them in the first place.

* * *

Louis lets Harry convince him to come on the next few stops of the tour, even though he knows it’s definitely probably not a good idea, and he only brought the one set of clothes. By the first night in New York, Louis is wearing Harry’s shirts and his own dirty skinny jeans and feeling both awkward as hell and thoroughly eighteen again.

Both of them had talked a lot since Philadelphia, actually travelling together from stop to stop. Despite everything though, there’s still a lot that neither of them know how to work around. Harry has changed so much in the last few years, grown into this incredibly brave new version of himself, forever and unapologetically being exactly who he is, and Louis, well, he hasn’t. Not so much anyway. He’s still not ready to even think about coming out, and Harry, though he hasn’t said anything about it, is troubled by the idea of carrying around the weight of a thousand secrets again, Louis can _ feel  _ the worry roll off of him sometimes when Harry thinks he isn’t paying attention and Louis  _ hates himself  _ for making Harry feel that way.

And it’s not just that either. Briana had Face-Timed him for the first time in weeks while they were in Toronto, and a helplessness Louis never expected to feel cracks in his heart like heat lighting. Harry had returned from a shower, hair dripping and a towel slung low on his hips just as Louis was telling Freddie goodnight, and though Harry tried his level best not show it, Louis knows him well enough to know that he was hurt. Freddie is the one thing that Harry will never be able to forgive Louis for, and part of him can’t blame Harry for that. Freddie had been an accident, without a doubt, but he’s an accident that still feels a lot like betrayal to Harry, and yet, he’s one that Louis loves with every single fiber of his being at the exact same time.

So yeah, maybe the last few days have felt mostly perfect, maybe Louis lets himself hope sometimes that it  _ will  _ all be okay, but there’s also the times he catches Harry staring out the window, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth when he  _ knows  _ that this isn’t ever going to be easy. In those moments, the odds seem as insurmountable as they always had, and he wants nothing more to run back to his flat in London and forget he was ever dumb enough to think otherwise.

* * *

Anne is in the VIP box the second night in New York and she folds Louis immediately and without hesitation into the kind of embrace that his own mother would have after a long time apart and he has to bite his tongue until he tastes copper to keep from screaming.

It doesn’t get much better.

Harry actually cries during Sweet Creature, looks right up at Louis with watery eyes, and he is positive that he can physically feel his heart shattering in his chest, sure that there’s no way any of this is going to work out and he spends the entirety of the next five songs thinking of the long trip back to London and what he’s going to tell his little sisters.

Louis is so immersed in his own misery that he misses most of the first verse of Still the One, and it’s not until Anne nudges him gently in the ribs that he lets himself slip out of panic mode and back into reality.

“Huh?”

“Pay attention, would you? He’ll kill us both if you miss this.” Anne says, nodding down toward the stage with a huff of exasperation and a smile that Louis know means mischief--he’d seen it a million times mirrored on the face of her son.

“Wait,” Louis says, catching on just as Harry smirks at Kasey’s lyric change. “What the fuck is he doing?” His voice trembles, and the emotion rises again in his throat faster than he would have previously thought even possible.

“He’d been planning this for ages, you know. Since he’d invited you to come out.” Anne says pulling Louis into another hug, that this time it feels like nothing but hope and he gives into it without a fight.

“But…” and Anne doesn’t even let him get started, not really, just cuts Louis off so fiercely that he doesn’t even try to argue with her.

“Louis Tomlinson. My son loves you more than he’s ever loved anyone. He’s telling you that right now in New York City in front of twenty thousand people and if you don’t trust that, trust  _ him,  _ you are not the man I’ve always thought you were.”

It’s at that exact moment that Harry looks up and catches Louis’ eye, smiles at the sight of him all but cradled in his mother's arms, and this time, when the tears start, there’s not a fucking thing Louis can do to stop them.

* * *

Louis spends hours wrapped around Harry in what he’s sure is the biggest bed in New York City after the show, and when the sun starts to peak over the horizon the next morning, fanning perfectly over Harry’s cheekbones and settling in the dip of his naked hip, his anxiety about the future still isn’t quite gone. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t perfectly terrified of what comes next, of the public, and the fans, and the next time the phone brings about the face of a toddler that carries both his last name and eyes the exact same shade of blue as the ones that he sees every morning in the mirror.

But somewhere between the sixth time Harry tells Louis he loves him and the second time he gives up on using his words entirely in favor of catching his bottom lip between his teeth and kissing Louis until he has no  _ choice  _ but to believe Harry means it, he starts to think maybe the universe always knew better than the two of them when it came down to it, bringing them back together again and again and again, until they were wise enough to stop fighting against it.   

The line between asleep and awake starts to blur ever so slightly around the edges as Louis lies in Harry’s arms, and from what seems like a hundred miles away he hears him humming Sweet Creature softly into the silence. Sloppily, riding on the very last vestiges of consciousness, Louis kisses him, just a tiny promise of a hundred million more to come and falls into dreams knowing that he’s finally,  _ finally  _ come home. 

**fin.**

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on tumblr [HERE.](http://thistreeisdrrrunk.tumblr.com) Also, if you would please reblog this fic post [HERE.](http://thistreeisdrrrunk.tumblr.com/post/178560288017/you-bring-me-home-larry-stylinson)


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